


Gotham can wait,

by wajjs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Inspired by Art, Jason enjoying life, taking it easy, which makes this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: There's light coming in through the open window. Light with no shyness, taking over the wall, drawing shapes on it. The message is clear, is of life, of the presence of existence. Of a whole world going on outside these walls, of people living and breathing and.
Relationships: Gotham City & Jason Todd
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Gotham can wait,

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cissil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cissil/gifts).



**Gotham can wait,**

There's light coming in through the open window. Light with no shyness, taking over the wall, drawing shapes on it. The message is clear, is of life, of the presence of existence. Of a whole world going on outside these walls, of people living and breathing and.

There are old and new aches igniting like sparks whenever he moves. From his shoulder comes a rainbow of them, blue, green and purple - covered by white, pristine white he's just changed into. And even though it's late, a smile dances on his lips at the crystalline sound of a little girl's laughter, music seeping through the air by the grace of an open window, the bustle and hustle of every dusk the background picture.

Methodically, he drapes the white over his chest, secures it in place and simply… breathes. In and out. In. Out. Slow and gentle as it goes inside, calm and relaxing as it leaves. With the stray breeze he sways a little, lets the many scents from the street come ashore upon his skin in ways he cannot smell but they still matter.

It had rained earlier, and the wetness had broken apart the smog for blessed hours. A light rain, not a harmful thing, not much of a hindrance for those permanently stuck in the streets. He remembers washing his hair with rainwater he collected in a bowl he made out of a broken bottle. He remembers feeling clean and it being happiness that lasted a little longer.

It's the small things, he guesses. Moments he shared with no one else.

The breeze carries a voice and he stops to listen to it. Summer is leaving, that's the song of the weather, summer is leaving and this time is gentle. He moves his bandaged shoulder, tests its bindings, nothing feels loose among the myriad of discomforts sparking alive. Truly not debilitating, not with how he is. Simply hard to forget.

The clock on the wall ticks and ticks - it's soon going to be time and when that happens he's going to run into the night. Wild men and women run into the night, fight the dying of the light. With wind they run and in wind they come, feathered and dearest, to all hopes and dreams.

Sometimes the wind feels the same wind that bathed his skin, that first night, that first chance - to grasp greatness, to complete his call. Sometimes the wind is warm and there's mercy at the tip of the knife. Sometimes…

A simple laughter bubbles up in his chest. He's in a good mood, a miracle among the universe, and he moves to sit on the windowsill, looks down at the street bathed in light. There's a couple walking hand in hand, unhurried. A little kid with their grandma walking a dog twice their size. The laughter of a young teen as they start the hopscotch again, cheered on by their friends. Music, soft music coming a floor down from the building in front of his, through the open window he sees a couple smiling, living, dancing.

He takes the flattened packet of cigarettes from his pocket, grabs one of the three sticks remaining. The end turns red after the fourth try with his lighter, one that always fights him but he keeps because it's the only thing he has from the times before - before Batman, before Bruce, before the streets.

The thing is as old as he is, if not older. It's a memory. One that he chooses to keep.

Breathing out the smoke, he lets himself relax, leans into the frame and allows the light coming from outside to bathe him.

This is a small cosmos, one full of people, one with him in it. He's not the center, no one is, but they all are of importance to its making.

A thought crosses his mind then, as he looks on with tired but content eyes the many scenes going on in the street. Gotham can wait, he thinks. For a couple of hours. For just this moment. For him to simply exist: Gotham can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Cata's WONDERFUL ART, you can find the original posts here:  
> [tumblr](https://cata-strophes.tumblr.com/post/618046830136180736/gotham-can-wait)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/cissilian/status/1260724489303752714?s=19)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJeNJLgDeO/?igshid=tnjqln8nkn9i)


End file.
